Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (good beach reads .txt) 📕

‘I’m not sure,’ she said eventually. ‘Doris. Come and look at this.’

A woman in a bleach-stained blue overall emerged from the shelf racks. A queue was beginning to form at the till but people were too caught up in the drama to complain.

‘Have you seen this girl around here? I can’t decide,’ the badger-haired woman said.

‘What’s she done?’ The second woman gave Paton a direct stare.

‘Have you seen her around?’

‘Possibly. Not with blonde hair though. More brown?’ She stared at the photo for ages. ‘Nah, I dunno who she is.’ She shrugged and walked back to the box she was unpacking.

The people in the queue exhaled with disappointment and Paton left the shop before he let his irritation boil over. He really thought he’d found her then. Had she dyed her hair? Maybe he’d have more luck in the kebab shop next door.

The man behind the counter looked sweaty and unkempt. Paton didn’t think he’d bother with a kebab for lunch.

‘Are you the owner?’

‘I am. Who’s asking?’

Paton showed the man his ID and the picture of Trina and watched his face carefully. The man thrust the picture back at Paton.

‘Never seen her before.’

‘Are you sure?’ Paton hadn’t imagined that sudden widening of the eyes.

‘Calling me a liar?’ The man glared at Paton who gave him the picture again. ‘Take another look. She may have dyed her hair brown.’

‘Nope.’ The man turned away after the merest glance and opened the fridge, avoiding Paton’s gaze.

Paton was convinced the man knew her, but why was he protecting her? Or was he protecting himself? Maybe he gave her a job but paid her in cash to cut out the tax man. Jesus. No wonder the country was on its knees. Paton left the shop reluctantly.

Loud music blared from a block of flats as he moved along the street and his knocking at the first house went unheard. He’d have to come back later. He crossed the road and started at the other end of the row of terraces. By the fourth one he was almost ready to give up and go home. No one was answering. He rattled the letterbox at the next house and immediately a large dog started barking. Paton liked dogs but he was always wary. Some criminals used them as a shield or weapon, and, as the door opened, he instinctively took a step back, covering his crotch with his folder.

A ferret-faced man with dark greasy hair was clutching the collar of a huge Alsatian dog. ‘I’ve got a TV licence and I’ve paid my rent,’ the man said in a nasally voice. ‘I don’t want double glazing and I’m not voting for you.’

‘I’m—’

‘And I don’t believe in God.’ The man stepped back and began to shut the door.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Paton. I need to ask you a couple of questions.’

The man froze when he saw Paton’s ID card then his tone changed. ‘Sorry, we get a lot of cold callers, and if I don’t see them off they keep calling and making Rex bark.’

Paton took the E-Fit portrait from his folder, keeping one eye on Rex who was staring fixedly at him. He showed the portrait to the man and watched his face carefully for even the slightest reaction. ‘Have you seen this woman?’

The man frowned. ‘What’s she done?’ he asked, then avoided Paton’s scrutiny by bending down to ruffle his dog’s neck. ‘Stop pulling, Rex, good lad.’

‘Do you know her?’ Paton’s inner radar was humming again. The dog was standing quietly.

‘No, I don’t. Sorry.’ He seemed to have composed himself because he looked Paton straight in the eye. ‘Anything else you want to ask?’

‘What’s your name?’

The man hesitated then said, ‘Derek.’ He paused and Paton waited. ‘Derek Fleetwood,’ the man added reluctantly.

.

Chapter 59

The Following September | Grace

The surface of the lake creases as another gust of wind blows in from the north. I pull my jacket across my chest and tie the belt more firmly. Maybe this wasn’t such a great place to meet but I don’t want to be seen with Derek. I glance at my watch. He’s late and I feel irritated but I’ve no choice other than to keep waiting. I need to get a passport organised.

I don’t want to go abroad, but unless I move in with Fiona I can’t see an alternative. I can’t afford to pay Mark’s mortgage and I’ve nowhere else to go. I’d psyched myself up to tell Fiona the truth about me this morning but Jenna didn’t go riding because of the rain, damn her. I’ve checked the weather and it should be sunny tomorrow so I hope I’ll have another chance to speak to Fiona and then perhaps she’ll let me use the spare room. Her needs are increasing daily and it won’t be long before she has to have help in the night. I want to be with her.

Whenever I think about the little time we have left together it’s as though a knife is twisting in my gut. I want to stand and yell at the sky, berating the God and heavens I don’t really believe in, because not only was my childhood stolen from me, my real father has already been taken and my mother will soon follow. The injustice of it all is unbearable. Every time I stumble across a picture of my father I linger and absorb every detail. Every time someone mentions him I hang on their every word and yearn for him. I’ll never feel his warm arms around me, have him ruffle my hair, hear him say he’s proud of me. I could have done so much with a decent education, love and encouragement. I might have been a lawyer, doctor or CEO of a big company. I could have risen to the top of a profession. Instead, I’ve worked in supermarkets and greasy kebab shops.

I sit on a deserted bench and stare out across the lake, wishing